


A Trail of Lights

by thebaddestwolf



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose is excited to celebrate Christmas on the TARDIS, until she realizes the Doctor has forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trail of Lights

**Author's Note:**

> It wouldn't be the holidays without some trite Christmas fluff! Enjoy :)
> 
> Beta: tkross

“What’s this then?”

The Doctor raises his brows as he takes the steaming mug from Rose.

“Hot chocolate.”

She slowly sits next to him on the media room sofa, careful not to spill her own drink, and pulls the quilt over their laps as best she can with her free hand.

“Yes, I can tell _that_ , but what’s this bit?”

He sniffs, lifting the offending object from his mug.

“Peppermint stick.”

“Ah.” He sucks on one end of the red and white candy and nods to himself. “And since when do we drink hot chocolate with peppermint sticks?”

“Dunno,” Rose says, blowing on her drink and dispersing the spiraling ringlets of steam. “Thought it was festive.”

“Festive, right.” The Doctor takes a tentative sip and hums appreciatively. “Well, it’s not half bad. Glad we’re being festive tonight! Is that what explains the getup?”

He points his chin toward her outfit without looking at her and Rose smirks.

“Oh, this?” She pinches the red fabric at her chest and pulls it outwards, biting her lip as his eyes follow her movement, as expected. “It’s my reindeer onesie. Mum got it for me last year -- isn’t it cute?”

The Doctor clears his throat and takes a gulp of his cocoa, wincing as he swallows.

“Oi, don’t drink it so fast, you’ll burn yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

He places the mug on the coffee table and shifts to face her, knee nudging the side of her thigh. He opens and closes his mouth a few times and gives Rose a desperate sort of look, wordlessly pleading with her to stop him from asking the question she can see bubbling up in his throat. But she just rests her hand on his leg and waits, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

“How does one even get into something like that?”

Rose beams wide in triumph, tongue at the corner of her smile. She half expects the Doctor to avert his gaze, or spring up from the sofa, or to launch into a diatribe about the history of zippers and their impact on post-modern garment construction, but he doesn’t. He holds her stare with interest, only the nervous fingers scratching his neck giving him away.

Well, that won’t do.

“Oh, thanks for reminding me.” She sweeps her hair over one shoulder and turns away from him. “Could you zip it up the rest of the way? Couldn’t quite get it.”

Rose presses her lips together as she imagines his eyes widening, his cheeks turning pink. He hesitates, but not as long as she anticipates, and she feels his fingers ghost her neck as he brushes a few stray strands of hair away from the zipper, before slowly dragging it upward.

“There you go,” he says, hands lingering on her neck.

“Ta.”

Rose peeks at him over her shoulder and they exchange smiles, until the Doctor blinks and turns to face forward, lifting his hot chocolate from the table so quickly that a few drops slosh over the side. Rolling her eyes, Rose settles back against the couch, too, fixing the quilt that had started to slip from their laps.

“So, what’s brought on this festive mood,” he asks, drawing out the last word the way he likes.

“You really don’t know?”

He raises his eyebrows as he takes another sip of hot chocolate, swirling the liquid with the melting peppermint stick as he drinks. Rose squints at him, wondering if he’s being intentionally daft.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Doctor.”

“Ah.”

“Did you forget?”

“No, it’s just, well -- we’re in the time vortex, Rose, so it’s not Christmas Eve here. It’s not anything, in fact, it just… is.”

“Yeah, I know that, but according to my Earth calendar, which I keep diligently -- as you know -- it _is_ Christmas Eve, and I’m celebrating accordingly.”

“Fair enough.”

The Doctor grins at her and then points his sonic at the telly, flipping through the channels. Rose frowns as she studies his face.

“But I thought… I mean, last year you liked Christmas.”

“I did! Last Christmas was brilliant.”

“Well now you seem sorta… indifferent.”

“Do I? Don’t mean to be,” he says, eyes trained on the screen. “Suppose it’s because last year was different, you know -- a fresh victory to celebrate, a new body to break in.” Rose blushes at his choice of words, but the Doctor doesn’t seem to notice. “And Jackie had cooked food that was actually edible, for once. Or, on second thought, maybe my new tastebuds had adapted to _find_ her food edible. Well, either way, it was delectable. Oh, and those colorful paper hats! Loved those hats, didn’t mess up my hair at all.”

She smiles at the memory of sitting around her mum’s kitchen table, talking and eating and laughing with her new Doctor, who she was coming to accept as her old Doctor -- one and the same. But her face falls as she realizes he -- the man who can keep track of the anniversary of the day he bought his first pair of Chucks across time and space -- didn’t even realize it was Christmas Eve on Earth. Maybe it didn’t mean as much to him as it did to her.

“Rose, what’s wrong?”

The Doctor mutes the TV and turns toward her. She shakes her head, picking at a stray string on the quilt and feeling ridiculous in her childish pajamas.

“Nothing.”

He cups her chin and gently lifts it upward, prompting her to meet his eyes.

“Oh come on. What is it?”

“It’s just a silly tradition,” she says, shrugging. “Shouldn’t have expected you to celebrate it.”

“What? It’s not silly! And I’m rather enjoying our celebration -- delicious peppermint hot chocolate, Rose Tyler in a reindeer onesie… Come on, tell me your favorite thing about Christmas -- whatever it is, we’ll do it, right now.”

She grins at him, even though her eyes are still stinging, and leans her head on his shoulder. He didn’t remember Christmas, but he’s trying to make her happy, and she supposes that is something.

“Spending time with the people I love.”

“Oh.” The Doctor wraps an arm around her shoulder and takes a long, slow breath. “Do you want to go see Jackie, then?”

“What? No.”

Rose hears the Doctor exhale as he un-mutes the telly and starts flipping through channels again. The room is suddenly thick with awkwardness and she’s even more confused.

“My other favorite part is watching Home Alone -- the first one,” she says, rushling to smooth over whatever just happened. “Think that’s on, somewhere?”

“Of course! I’ll find it in a jiffy.”

She places her nearly empty mug on the coffee table and curls back against his side, sighing as his arm returns around her shoulders, more relaxed than it was a moment ago.

They fall into their normal routine after that, cuddling and laughing their way through the uniquely ‘90s slapstick of a child outsmarting two grown men. Rose makes another round of hot chocolate before they start Home Alone 2 and starts yawning in the middle of Home Alone 3 before drifting off.

She wakes to the Doctor whispering her name and stroking her arm.

“Hmm?”

“I said, you’ll probably be more comfortable in your own bed.”

“I’ll go when the movie’s over,” she mumbles, burrowing under the quilt.

“Oh, erm, it ended quite a while ago, actually. I did find a 23rd century remake of the original, but it’s completely unrealistic and poorly executed so I didn’t think it was worth waking you.”

Rose rubs her eyes, reluctantly drifting back to consciousness. She blinks, waiting for her sleep-blurred vision to focus, and then freezes as she recognizes the blue and brown pattern of the Doctor’s tie just inches from her face. The realization of her position hits her quickly, then -- she’s sitting on his legs with her cheek resting on his chest, the lapel of his jacket clutched in her hand.

“Uh, sorry,” she says, scrambling up from his lap. “Really shifted in my sleep there, didn’t I? You should’ve woken me.”

The Doctor stands too, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You were tired.” He shrugs. “I didn’t mind.”

“Right, well, guess I’ll go to my room now,” she says, looking at her fleece-covered toes and remembering the blasted onesie. “Um, will you unzip the top bit? Can’t sleep in this -- I’ll get too hot.”

“Sure.”

She turns and ducks her head, letting him brush her hair out of the way this time. Rose closes her eyes as he lowers the zip, reveling in his touching while still reeling from the embarrassment of waking up in his lap.

“Erm… tell me when.”

“Oh, that’s fine!” She cringes, realizing he’s unzipped the onesie halfway down her back. “See you tomorrow, Doctor.”

She starts to leave the room but pauses in the doorway and turns back, smiling apologetically. The Doctor’s still standing next to the sofa with his hands in his pockets, quilt in a rumpled heap by his feet. He smiles back.

“Happy Christmas, Rose.”

She starts to say it back to him, but she realizes this Christmas won’t be as happy as the last, and the words won’t come.

“Goodnight,” she says instead, before setting off for her room.

***

Rose is awoken by the sound of her bedroom door closing.

She budges up on the bed, waiting for the Doctor to settle in next to her. After a few moments pass without the mattress bending from his weight, she sits up and lets her eyes to adjust to the dark.

“Doctor?” she whispers, scanning the room.

There’s no trace of him, but a shimmer near the foot of her bed catches her eye.

Rose switches on the lamp on her nightstand and raises her hand to shield her eyes from the yellow brightness. Climbing out from beneath the covers, she crawls to the foot of the bed and a smile spreads across her face as she realizes what had caught her attention.

There’s a large square box, wrapped neatly in shiny silver paper and tied with a thick red ribbon. Rose clambers onto the floor and kneels next to it, lifting the oversized tag attached to the bow.

On one side of the tag she finds instructions, scribbled in the Doctor’s cramped writing:

_Rose, please open this on Christmas morning. On no circumstances should you open this before then. I mean it! - The Doctor._

Rose grins so widely her cheeks ache. Even if he didn’t remember it was Christmas, he’s trying to make her happy _and_ is going out of his way to make sure the day will be special for her, even if it isn’t for him.

She lifts the box and shakes it. It’s lighter than she anticipated, and she can’t hear anything moving about inside.

“Not a puppy, then.”

She giggles to herself and reads the tag one more time, frowning at the _on no circumstances_ bit. Why would he word it so sternly? Would something bad happen if she opened it before Christmas morning? Maybe he used some sort of gift box that would detonate if tampered with before its designated opening time, or perhaps it was a sentient alien present that didn’t take well to being disturbed before dawn.

Rose rolls her eyes at her ridiculous train of thought -- he would never do anything like that. But still, why would he place a gift in her room in the middle of the night in the first place? He could’ve just left it outside her door -- he knows she’s a light sleeper, after all.

Sighing, she crawls back into bed and turns off the lamp, noting that the clock on her nightstand reads 3:17 a.m. Rose closes her eyes and wills the TARDIS to make Christmas morning get here quickly.

***

It’s 3:34 a.m. when Rose begins tearing the silver paper off the gift, after deciding it’s _technically_ Christmas morning already, anyhow.

It’s 3:35 a.m. when she finally makes it through the Doctor’s ludicrously strong layers of paper and tape and opens the lid of the box.

Her brow furrows when all she finds inside is a folded piece of paper that looks like it came from the notebook the Doctor keeps in his desk. Written on the paper in the same familiar handwriting is another note:

_I knew it! I knew you’d open this before Christmas morning, even though I explicitly told you not to. We’re going to have to have yet another talk about following instructions, Rose -- we can’t have a repeat of the “blue/not-blue” incident, can we? But for now, that can wait._

_Please open your door._

Rose’s heart stutters and her imagination runs miles ahead of her before she can reel it back, images filling her mind of the Doctor standing outside her door with a smirk on his face and mistletoe above his head.

She scowls to herself and stands to put on her bathrobe, tucking a small package in her pocket and banishing the thought from her head. It’s now more clear than ever that that wasn’t a direction they were moving toward, and she had to stop hoping for more. They’re best mates -- best mates who hold hands and hug and cuddle, sure -- but that’s all. That’s enough. It has to be.

Stepping into her slippers, Rose makes her way to the door eager with her revised brand of anticipation. She opens the door, steps into the hallway, and finds… nothing.

Hands on her hips, she looks both ways down the corridor, which seems empty and perfectly normal, if a little darker than usual, perhaps. Puzzled, she reads the note again. He knew she was going to open the box before morning, so shouldn’t something be here? It wasn’t like him to have a present trail lead to a dead end.

She looks down the hallway again, worrying that the Doctor has been abducted before completing his scavenger hunt, and then she sees it -- a faint twinkling reflecting off a coral strut down where the corridor takes a corner.

Grinning, she sets off toward the light in a jog, fuzzy slippers scuffing along the floor. As she approaches the bend, Rose can make out a string of multicolored fairy lights, like the ones people in posher neighborhoods used to decorate their houses each winter. This one, however, looks more vibrant and shinier -- alien, most likely -- and definitely longer, as it appears to run down the length of the hallway as far as she can see.

She’s picked up the trail.

Her jog turns into more of a skip as she follows the string of lights past the console room, the galley, the storage room, the sauna, and the Doctor’s bedroom. She’s panting when she finally reaches the end of the string -- which doesn’t appear to be connected to an energy source -- at the threshold of the library.

She walks up to the open doorway, toes in line with the very last light, and looks inside.

It’s completely dark.

“Doctor?” she whispers, stepping inside.

The moment she enters the room a few soft crackles sound from the far corner, and the space fills with gentle orange light. Rose smiles as the smoky scent of the fire reaches her nose and she begins to make her way toward the fireplace, her favorite spot in the library.

When she rounds the last stack of books before the fireplace sitting area, the scene she finds before her makes her gasp.

There are fairy lights everywhere, strung along the book shelves, winding up the coral struts, hanging from the rafters. There are evergreens boughs and sprigs of holly on the mantle, glowing from the fire beneath it and filling the air with their fragrance as they warm. There’s a Christmas tree strung with glittering white lights and colorful garland and dozens of delicate glass ornaments.

And there’s the Doctor, sitting on a cushion in front of the fire with a red paper crown on his head.

He smiles up at her, face hesitant and hopeful, and it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“What would you have done if I’d listened to your dumb instructions?” Rose laughs, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Sat here all night?”

The Doctor grins.

“You? Follow instructions? Not a chance.”

“Shut up.”

She rolls her eyes and walks toward the tree, sitting criss-cross on the cushion across from him. She looks around, speechless, marveling at how he had put all of this together at the last minute.

“This one’s for you,” he said, handing her a red and gold Christmas cracker.

“This my present?”

“Nope.”

They both hold an end of the cracker and pull until it pops, the contents spilling out. Rose puts the blue paper crown on her head, places the candies on the carpet, and unrolls her fortune.

“Huh, it just says _Under the tree_.”

The Doctor nods toward the tree and Rose turns, finding a single box -- identical to the one he’d left in her room -- sitting on the tree skirt. She squeals and begins to unwrap it, but stops after sliding the ribbon free.

“Wait,” she says, pulling the box from the pocket of her bathrobe. “Open yours first.”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have!”

Beaming, the Doctor rips her cartoonish Santa Claus wrapping paper off in one go and is soon holding the red plastic object in his hand.

“Oh, you’re joking,” he says, smiling even wider. “Is this your ViewMaster? Fantastic!”

“No, it’s not my one -- wouldn’t give you a hand-me-down gift.” Rose giggles, shoving his shoulder. “Saw you admiring the one you found under my bed at mum’s, so I special ordered this one for you. Go on, look at the slides.”

The Doctor pops one of the circular slide discs into the slot and raises the viewer to his eyes, facing the light of the fire. His mouth falls open as he flips the lever to rotate through the slides again and again.

“New Earth, the Coronation, 2012… these photos are all of us.”

“Yeah, I found this website that takes your own photos and puts them on the slide-wheels,” Rose says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Gave them every photo on my camera. There are loads more in the box, see?”

The Doctor takes the viewer down from his eyes, but rather than look at the additional slides he leans in and wraps her in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he says, lips grazing the shell of her ear and sending a shiver through her. “It’s absolutely brilliant, I love it.”

“You’re welcome,” Rose says when he finally lets go. They grin at each other for a moment until she remembers her present. “Oh, right!”

The Doctor chuckles as she tears open the paper, which is far less fortified than the last box, and takes off the lid.

Beneath the tissue paper she finds a deep blue velvet dress with intricate lace around the sleeves and neck. It’s old and exquisite and she recognizes it immediately.

“It’s the dress from the Torchwood Estate,” she says quietly, fingering the silky fabric.

“Well spotted,” the Doctor says. “I saw the way you kept peeking at it in the wardrobe when we stayed in that room that night, after the werewolf and everything and, well, figured they wouldn’t miss it.”

“Can’t believe you remembered that -- it was ages ago,” Rose says, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Let’s see, we were about to walk back to the TARDIS and I held it up to myself one last time, right? And, oh yeah, I said, I’d love a dress like that one day, and you said…”

Her breath catches as it dawns on her, as everything clicks into place. The Doctor smiles and finishes her sentence.

“I said, maybe you’ll get one for Christmas.”

Rose holds the dress to her chest, staring at him as her eyes begin to well.

“You didn’t forget.”

The Doctor shakes his head.

“I didn’t forget.”

Rose nearly knocks him over with the force of her hug, pressing her nose into the side of his neck and squeezing him tightly.

“Why did you have me on like that?”

She laughs as she feels the Doctor shrug.

“Dunno, I just… wanted to make it special. I know nothing could compare to last year and there were no alien threats on the horizon -- believe me, I checked -- so I thought if I could make it a surprise, maybe it wouldn’t be as much of a let down.”

Rose pulls back, keeping her hands on his shoulders, and looks at him with a furrowed brow.

“A let down? Why would you ever think that?”

“Because last year was so exciting -- action packed! We fought off the baddies and won, well, mostly, and-- and there was a sword fight and loss of limb and re-growth of limb, followed by a celebratory dinner with your mum and Mickey.” The Doctor takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “And now he’s gone, and your mum’s at your nan’s for Christmas, and there’s no sword fighting today -- probably -- so I was worried you’d be… bored.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Nearly called everything off, too, because of that thing you said earlier.”

“What thing?”

The Doctor swallows and glances away.

“That you’d rather spend time with the people you love.”

Rose gapes at him, astounded that they could have misunderstood each other so badly. She tries to catch his eye but he’s looking down, hands fiddling with the fraying string holding her bathrobe closed.

Leaning forward, she loops her arms around his neck and rests her forehead against his, their paper crowns crinkling as they touch.

“I meant you,” she whispers.

The Doctor doesn’t say anything for a moment, doesn’t even seem to breathe, but then Rose feels his hands on her waist. He pulls her closer to him and angles his head to nuzzle her cheek, and her world narrows to the feel of him against her and a crackling fire somewhere off in the distance.

“Really?”

She laughs as she kisses him, a quiet laugh that’s mostly just air and exasperation, a negligible noise that sounds so right against his lips. This time she doesn’t have to wait for the Doctor to respond; his mouth is the first to part, his tongue the first to venture forward, his hands the first to move down her body, smoothing along her hip and thigh before pulling her down onto him.

Rose clings to him, happy and desperate, soft sounds building at the back of her throat as she slides her tongue along his and sucks on his bottom lip. It’s like the atmosphere is alight, with the fire roaring behind her and the flame sparking low in her belly and his skin scorching her hands wherever they can reach.

It’s when the Doctor’s hand slips inside her bathrobe that Rose finally has to break away, to breathe and to anchor herself to this new, wonderful reality before it floats off.

“I’m in your lap again.” She giggles, tucking her head under his chin.

“I noticed.” The Doctor squeezes her waist. “And honestly, Rose, when you said you’d get too hot sleeping in your Christmas onesie, I thought you meant you’d change into lighter pajamas, not…”

He runs a finger along her bare ribs and she shrieks, twisting in his arms.

“I was too tired,” she says, kissing his jaw. “Someone kept me up all night watching cheesy Christmas movies.”

“Is that so? I seem to remember it differently.”

Rose presses open-mouthed kisses down his throat until she reaches the base of his neck, where she swirls her tongue on his skin and sucks gently, then harder, until he gasps.

“You sure?”

“No,” the Doctor squeaks and clears his throat. “No, you’re right. Whatever you remember is right.”

***

Later, when the fire beside them has burned down to embers, Rose’s eyes grow heavy and she lets her head fall to the Doctor’s bare chest.

“You’ve really upped the ante for next year, you know,” she murmurs.

“Oh don’t worry.” He laughs, tracing a finger down her spine. “I’ve got a few things in mind.”

Rose smiles against his skin and then realizes that, even after everything, she still hasn’t told him.

“Happy Christmas, Doctor.”

He wraps his arms around her and kisses her temple.

“Happy Christmas, Rose.”


End file.
